


Set Life

by LondonGypsy



Category: Benedict Cumberbatch Fandom, British Actor RPF
Genre: Benedict being helpful, Benedict speaking Latin, F/M, First Kiss, First Time, Massages, One Shot, Sexy Times, Smut, the things he does with his hands...., working together
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-20
Updated: 2014-01-20
Packaged: 2018-01-09 10:40:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,629
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1144993
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LondonGypsy/pseuds/LondonGypsy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Just what it says on the tin... only a bit hotter.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Set Life

**Author's Note:**

> This was born a while back when I was chatting with friends on Twitter about how sexy it would be to have Benedict talk medical terms (shut up, you all know you want THAT!).  
> Took a while but finally the Muse agreed.  
> Thanks to Barawen and calliope79 for putting this in my head (and additional beta)- hope the final outcome pleases you!  
> Barawen as usual: Thanks for the Britpick.   
> And of course my Angel, SuperWhoLockGypsy for the beta! 
> 
> I know the set-up is probably wrong all over the place but hey, I needed something to go along with this.  
> Medical terms were googled so don't come yelling at me if they're wrong, I tried my best.  
> I left HER line of work deliberately open, she just works there, that's all you need to know. (and I hope in the end you agree that it's not really important)

"Good morning, Love."

"That is entirely debatable," I grumble in response to the daily greeting.

"Uh, tough night?"

I blink one heavy lid open, groan and squeeze it shut again.

"Och, hush."

I hear him chuckle and move around the room.

Knowing his morning routine I don't have to see what he's doing next.

Dropping off his bag on the sofa, shedding his jacket and hanging it on the hook by the door.

Next step's running a hand through his hair and checking the coffee maker.

Today he's not lucky; the last cup is currently warming my cold fingers.

He tuts quietly and I can almost feel his frown directed at me.

Without opening my eyes, I raise my mug and take a loud sip, grinning around the rim.

He tuts again but doesn't say anything.

Glass tingles, water runs and the wonderful smell of grounded coffee fills the room. Soon the rumbling noises announce that the coffee is in the making.

Paper rustles, a thud as he falls on the ugly yet cosy sofa, and a sigh.

I take another sip of my coffee, lulled in by the silence, only interrupted by the occasional flipping of script pages.

"For God's sake, go home."

I flinch at the low voice and almost spill the rest of my coffee over myself.

"You're drooling," he helpfully adds, the grin very audible in his tone.

I crack one eye open and find his, watching me from over his script, twinkling in the bright lights.

"I am not wasting a perfectly good cup of coffee, Cumberbatch," I reply grumpily.

He shrugs and goes back to reading.

"Your choice," he mutters, flipping another page.

Through heavy lids I watch him read, his lips moving tonelessly along.

I find myself hypnotised by their movement, getting lost in their fullness and I jump as he asks:

"Is it Ante _brachium_ or _Ante_ brachium?”

Tearing my gaze away from his mouth I look up. There is a knowing glint in his eyes that has me blush but he only repeats the question.

For a second my mind goes blank before it starts functioning again.

"How would I know?" I say, more brusque than intended.

He raises an eyebrow at me and lowers the script, placing one long finger on the page.

"You're the medic?"

I roll my eyes and stand to put my now empty mug into the sink.

"I told you, I only studied for two terms."

"And that's two more than me so..."

He raises an eyebrow at me, waiting.

Sighing I rinse the mug.

"It's _Ante_ brachium if you must know. Don't you have a coach for that anyway?"

"See wasn't that hard, was it," he chuckles and makes a note on his script.

"And I'd rather have you tell me..."

He let's the sentence hang in the air, winks at me and goes back to his script.

I mutter something under my breath, ignoring the warmth that spreads in my stomach after his words.

"When's your call?" I ask, distracting myself with drying my mug and putting it back where it belongs.

"9:15."

We sigh in unison; it's going to be a long day for him - just like it was a long night for me.

I yawn and stretch, groaning as I hear the kinks in my back crack.

"Oi, somebody needs a long hot bath," Benedict states, eyeing me over his script again.

Instantly I have the image of him in a bathtub before my eyes. Wet limbs stretching long and lazily over the edges, his hair plastered against his head...

I shake my head to shoo those thoughts away. _Stay professional, woman,_ I scold myself.

"Not?" he asks cheekily, grinning that boyish smile at me.

"Och, shut up, you," I say mockingly even though my heart is racing and I'm almost sure he can see it.

"Time to call it a night."

"Day, you mean," he teases.

" _My_ night, Silly," I shoot back as I grab my jacket and my scarf.

He jumps to his feet, his script forgotten on the sofa.

Rummaging through his jacket, he pulls out his gloves and throws them at me.

"Take them, it's bloody freezing outside."

"Uh, thanks."

I pull them on; for some odd reason they still feel warm and for a second it is as if it's his hands that close around mine.

Jesus, I need to get out of here before I completely lose it in front of him.

"Have a good day. See you tonight?"

He smiles and nods.

"Of course. Good night."

The words roll of his lips in a low rumble and my knees buckle a little.

"Night," I reply and flee the trailer.

Closing the door behind me I lean against it for a second, inhaling the icy morning air deeply.

This is slowly getting out of control and there's nothing I can do about it.

He gets to me more and more and I only see him a few minutes every day.

 *

When I started on my first day, I had been told that I had to share a trailer with one of the actors. I didn't mind.

It was a tiny, independent thing, with unknown producers and writers nobody had ever heard of. The budget was minimal; locations were used double and triple, most people working here were interns or work for very little money.

I was supposed to work only nights so I wouldn’t even see whoever was inhabiting the trailer over the day.

But as Benedict bloody Cumberbatch wandered in that morning, a big smile plastered on his face, I was slightly shocked.

I knew he would be working on this film; it was the only big name attached right from the beginning. And honestly, probably the only reason people were working for almost nothing. The studio had never made a secret about it, and I myself thought that they deliberately used his rising star as bait. It had definitely worked.

But I had expected him to be secluded, having his own five star trailer, only turning up for his shoots, all the things you expect a famous star to be.

I was wrong.

Not only did he share a trailer with me, he also attended catering like a mere mortal, gave a hand wherever it was needed and chatted happily away with cast and crew in between takes.

Soon word got out that one of the writers was a friend and he was helping out, which only made him even more likeable.

He fitted right in and soon people forgot that they were working with a high class film star; everybody lucky enough working with or around him, was glad to do so. Swooned about how professional he was, how he showed tips and tricks to those who listened, men and women alike.

And after a few days it was normal to hear a "Morning, Benedict" or a "Well done, Mr C" on set.

He was the centre of attention every day.

And the highlights of my days, too.

In the beginning I was quite baffled that he was already there when I ended my night shoots even though his call was scheduled much later.

And in the evenings he waited to start my 'days' with me, despite the fact that he was tired after a long day.

Sometimes he had already put coffee or tea on and we shared a few precious minutes just chatting.

It became routine and I always looked forward to those few minutes I had him all to myself.

Much more than professionally legible.

He was like a magnet, like the literal light-bulb and I was the moth, flying around him.

I was pretty sure, he had noticed and yet he never avoided me.

Quite the contrary.

 *

Pondering about that while I wander over the ever so busy set, I realise that he seems to encourage it.

All those little smiles and winks, the way he makes my tea in the evening: exactly the brand I love, with the exact amount of sugar in it, sometimes small notes on the mirror when he gets called away...

"You're hallucinating," I mumble to myself as I reach the street, turning left towards the tube station.

But it doesn't leave my head all the way home; even the pushing and shoving during morning rush hour doesn't bother me right now.

He is single, we all know that: press and even the man himself never make a secret about it.

Could it be? Was he flirting with me?

Still deep in thoughts, I leave the tube and walk quickly to my flat to get out of the freezing cold and into a hot bath.

 *

When I wake up six hours later, my neck is stiff and my back hurts like hell.

Shit.

For a second I consider staying home but there is no substitute so I roll out of bed, whining at the white-hot stab in my lower back.

In the cabinet I find some old pain pills and take them, hoping they still help.

I don't really know how I make it to work but as soon as I enter the trailer, Benedict is beside me, leading me towards the sofa.

I carefully sit down, biting back a whimper.

"Christ, what happened to you?" he asks, fluttering around me like a concerned owl.

I shake my head.

"I have no idea, woke up like this."

"You need a doctor."

"Nah, I need something to eat, some more pain killers and I'll be good."

"I'll get you something," he says reluctantly and in a flurry of motion he's out of the room.

I lean back, trying to find a pose that is not shooting waves of pain through my body.

A few minutes later the door flies open again and he's back with an assortment of today's catering.

I don't feel hungry but I eat what he's practically shoving in my mouth so I can take another dose of the pills.

Benedict's hovering on the edge of the sofa, eyeing me worriedly.

"You can't work like this, you can't even move," he says, concern very audible in his voice.

"Stop fussing. Probably just a nerve in my back or something, I'll be fine," I mutter, trying not to hiss in agony as I shift to find a better position to sit.

I can almost hear him roll his eyes and he mumbles something under his breath that sounds suspiciously like "stubborn woman" but I ignore him.

The meds are - finally - kicking in and I can feel the pain subside slowly.

"I'll be fine," I assure him again, managing a smile, "go home, it was a long day.”

He gives me another wary look and I can see how exhausted he is.

"Are you sure?" he asks despite the yawn he's stifling.

"Yes Mom. Now go."

"Fine," he grumbles, grabbing his bag and his jacket, heading for the door.

"Get a doctor, if it's..."

"GO!" I call, a bit louder than intended.

Without another word he leaves but not without giving me one last worried look.

As soon as the door falls shut, I collapse into the cushions, letting out a pained groan.

Dealing with pain is one thing. Having him see it, see the worry in his eyes, only makes it worse. I feel guilty for basically pushing him out. He is only concerned.

And yet, the apprehension I saw in his face and heard in his voice fills me with warmth and dulls the pain a tad.

My phone beeps; call time.

Somehow I manage to stand and shuffle towards the door.

Off to work then.

 *

It's 3am when I break down. The pain is getting too much, my back feels as if it's on fire and every movement hurts like hell.

Thankfully the scene is almost done, and nobody really pays attention when I excuse myself and stagger back to the trailer.

Lowering myself carefully onto the floor - the sofa isn't doing it in my state - I feel tears prickle behind my eyes.

Helplessness is washing over me and I let the tears flow.

Eventually I can pull myself together but there's no way I am able to get up.

The sofa is not far away; with some difficulties I manage to pull one of the ugly pillows down to stuff under my head.

A blanket is hanging haphazardly over one edge; pulling it down as well, I drape it over me.

The floor is cold but soon I doze off in a med induced haze, filled with strange dreams.

 *

"Grace, Love, can you hear me???"

Going by the urgency in the tone, it's been asked quite a few times already.

"Hmmm?" I murmur, still floating in that odd space between dream and wakefulness.

"Grace, are you alright?"

Benedict's voice sounds strained and when I blink one heavy lid open, he's squat down next to me, deep lines on his forehead.

Without thinking I lift a hand and smooth over them, wanting to erase the look of concern of his gorgeous face.

He flinches at the touch before a quick smile flickers over his face, which is gone just as quickly.

"Hey. What are you doing on the floor?" he asks softly, sitting down with a thud.

"Hard...good," I babble, my tongue heavy and foreign in my mouth.

He chuckles at my unintelligible mutterings before concern takes over again.

"I am calling a doctor," he declares, digging through his pockets for his phone.

"No, please, I... I'm better...really..."

And just as I say it, I notice that I can move again.

Rolling on my back, I try to sit up, gritting my teeth in preparation of the onslaught of pain that never comes.

I am stiff, yes, but spending a few hours sleeping on a cold floor can do that to you.

"Help an old lady, would you," I joke as I scramble to my feet.

Benedict seems at a loss what to do but as I sway, his hands close gently around my arm and my waist, keeping me from tumbling back to the floor.

He wants to lead me to the sofa but I shake my head.

"No. Chair. Please," I add hastily and he steers me towards one of the solid wooden chairs.

I fall down and close my eyes for a second, feeling my stiff muscles relax a little.

"Are you sure that you don't need a doc?" he asks.

I nod.

"Yes, yes, I'm okay. Just gimme a second."

I take a few calming breaths and open my eyes again.

Benedict stands in front of me, fingers twitching as if he doesn't know what to do with his hands, the concern still written all over his face.

"Good Lord, Cumberbatch, relax. It's all fine," I say, annoyance seeping through in my words.

He flinches, his eyes narrow and he takes a step back.

"Just worried here," he grumbles and turns, busying himself with making coffee.

Guilt rushes through me and as he returns, handing me a steaming mug, I search his eyes.

"I am sorry, Benedict. I didn't mean to snap at you... I..."

He waves my stammering apology off.

"'s fine. How are you feeling?"

He's still hurt, I can see it but I also know he won't except another apology.

Carefully I wiggle my back a little but besides the stiffness there's no more pain, only a dull throbbing between my shoulder blades.

"Don't know what happened but it's better. Bit stiff but no more pain," I announce after my self diagnosis.

Benedict eyes me with an odd, unreadable expression which makes me avert my gaze.

"You need a massage," he eventually says, the words a bit hushed.

I sigh and sip my coffee.

"Hmm, yes, that sounds like a good idea. Although, the hot bath last night hadn't helped in the slightest. I need to ring Elsa, she's the best when it comes to massages. You should try that some day, I'm sure you could need a good rub down yourself every now and then, with being tall as a tree..."

My ramblings subside when he steps into my personal space, squatting down to look me in the eyes.

" _I_ can give you a massage," he says quietly, his eyes flickering over my face searchingly.

My mouth falls open and I stare.

"Huh?"

I must look utterly shocked because there's a smile tugging at one corner of his mouth. But it's gone again and now he only looks...nervous?

I am still gaping and quickly close my mouth again, my hands suddenly sweating.

"What?" I croak when I find my voice again.

He leans back on his heels, never breaking eye-contact when he says:

"I've learned quite a bit for this role, learned a bit about the human body, bones and nerves and stuff, and uhm, had some lessons in how to give, uh, massages."

He is rambling and he knows but that doesn't keep him from continuing.

"Of course, only if you want to, you don't have to, just., I cannot stand to see you in pain and uhm..."

I must have made some kind of noise because suddenly he stops and stands abruptly. He shoves his hands into his trouser pockets and turns away from me.

"Never mind, forget what I said."

He sounds so utterly hurt that I stop him before I can even think about it.

"Benedict."

There must be something in my tone that makes him look back to me.

Watching him closely, I suddenly see the faint blush on his cheeks and the slight tremble of his lower lip.

God, he's nervous. Why is he... OH!

"Benedict," I repeat again, softer this time. If I hadn't been watching him closely the slight shudder running through his body would have gone unobserved. But I see it and suddenly I know.

"I'd love for you to give me a massage," I say, smiling shakily at him.

This feels like a dream but I'd be damned if I'd refuse an offer like that.

His gaze roams over me, assessing my answer.

"Are you sure," he asks even as a soft smile lingers over his full lips.

Swallowing around the sudden lump in my throat I nod.

"Yes."

He bites his lips and runs a hand through his hair.

"Now? I still have time till my call."

I shrug.

"Can you do that here?" I ask, my heart beating heavily in my chest.

He looks around, pondering. The nervousness has ceased but I can still see it in his hasty movements.

"I could...just let me... be right back. Don't move."

With that he is gone, the trailer door flapping in the wake of his exit.

I lean back in my chair, trying to process the last few minutes.

Either the pain pills are causing hallucinations or I am dreaming.

There is no way this is actually happening.

Benedict's return proves me wrong.

He's carrying a bag over his shoulder and drags a small massage chair behind him up the steps.

Kicking the door shut behind him, he locks it and draws the tiny curtain over the window in it.

Rooted to the spot, I watch him drop the bag on the floor and arrange the chair next to the little heater. He turns it up to the max; I can hear the generator protest at it.

Benedict rummages through the small cupboard and produces a towel that he throws over the massage chair. Then opens the bag and pulls out a bottle of oil that he places above the heater.

Eventually he turns around, seeming to notice that I am watching his every step and he blushes.

"The girls in make-up owe me a favour," he stammers, rubbing a hand over his neck.

I nod dazedly.

He cocks his head and beckons me over.

"If you want..." he says, stepping to the sink to wash his hands thoroughly.

I stagger to my feet and over to the chair, falling heavily on it.

Everything seems like a very lucid dream, a dream I've been having for far too long.

Benedict turns, drying his hands with another towel and the look he gives me is something between extreme shyness and bold anticipation.

"Uh...your jumper... you need to take it off..."

He's blushing furiously now but there's an air of determination around him that utterly hypnotises me, and I nod.

I turn in the chair, still slow in my movements and awkwardly pull my jumper and the shirt under it over my head. Dropping it on the floor I lean against the wide backrest, my cheek against the fluffy surface of the towel.

I feel Benedict hesitate.

"What is it?" I ask, my voice a mere whisper.

"Uhm, your bra?"

It sounds like a question and heat rises on my face.

"Oh."

Blushing myself now, I try to reach back but that shoots a wave of discomfort through my back.

"Ouch."

"Let me..." he mumbles.

I hear him approach and I hold my breath as his fingertips make contact with my cold skin.

I shiver involuntarily as his warm hand brushes over my back and unhooks the bra.

"Sorry," he mutters and I have no idea what for.

I press my front against the backrest of the chair, keeping the bra in place.

"Straps," I hear him say but before I can react, his nimble fingers slide under each side and push them gently off my shoulders. He doesn't pull them all the way down, just leaves them halfway down my arms.

Clearing his throat he asks:

"Ready?"

He sounds insecure and so much younger than he actually is that it makes me smile.

"Yes."

I hear him take a deep breath and then the pop of the oil bottle.

Seconds later his hands are on my back and I have to bite back a moan.

The oil is warm and so are his hands. His large, gentle, wonderful hands. On my back, spreading the liquid all over it.

I instantly relax, almost melt into the back of the chair.

His touch is tentative, more a caress than a massage. It feels fantastic.

Very thoroughly he spreads the oil over my entire back: from my neck and shoulders all the way down to the hem of my trousers.

"You have a very nice _dorsum_ " he murmurs, making me chuckle.

"You're using me for practice now?" I tease but the soft groan of relief as he slides over an especially tender spot makes it more like a sigh.

He only hums, never once stopping his administrations.

When he starts reciting other bones and muscles, my fingers close tightly around the backrest.

His voice is low and dark, the words flow like poetry, rolling off his tongue seductively.

“ _Cervical vertibrae_... _scapula_... _trapazius_.... _rhomboideus_... _latissimus dorsi._..”

Every word is accompanied with a firm caress of the area he names and I am very thankful that I am sitting down; it's the sexiest thing I have ever heard.

Heat pools in my stomach and spreads through my limbs, everything slows down, my breathing, the blood in my veins, time itself.

Gradually he tightens his grip, shifting into a proper massage and I feel my muscles loosen.

I am floating in a bubble, only suspended by Benedict's hands and his voice, keeping me from dissolving into my atoms.

He's still reciting numerous parts of my back but his voice is getting quieter by the second until it fades and only his breathing is to be heard.

I am in a daze, and it takes me a while to notice that my own breath has sped up and I am not far from panting.

His hands have slowed down again, and he is caressing my back now, sliding his palms slowly, oh so slowly over ever inch of oily skin.

"You've warmed up," he growls, his husky tone chasing a bone crushing shudder through my body.

Words fail me so I only nod, pressing up against his hands, willing him wordlessly to continue.

He groans lowly and my heart stutters.

"Shit, this was a bad idea...I.. uh, I am sorry..." he whispers, slowly pulling his hands back.

"No! Please don't stop," I plead, arching my back a little, craving his touch.

The sound he makes sounds like a wounded animal, raw and desperate.

Willing my head to turn, I glimpse over my shoulder.

The sight steals my breath and my heart stops for a moment.

Benedict's face is covered in a fine sheen of sweat, the previously straightened hair is curling around his temples due to the perspiration. His eyes are dark, the pupils wide and glued to his own hands on my back. His chest his heaving and he is worrying his lower lip with his teeth.

He's shifting uncomfortably and when I let my gaze flicker down to his hips, I realize why.

I gasp and the sound has him look up.

Our eyes meet and for a moment neither of us moves.

I see a deep desire in his dark eyes, so utterly intense it scares me for a second.

"Grace,” he breathes, nothing else but it lifts the ban. I can move again.

I push myself up, not caring that my bra drops to the floor and stand on wobbly knees.

Benedict's hands are still on my back but slipping down to my waist as I fully stand.

I feel his harsh pants against the nape of my neck, his breath creating shivers over my heated skin.

For a moment I am still, not able to move one muscle but as Benedict's fingers slide over the thin skin at my sides - a question - I find control again.

Turning slowly, his hands never leave my body, and when I am face to face with him, they close tightly over my hipbones.

I look up, every movement dreamlike and slow, as if underwater.

His mouth is open, his lower lip red where he's bitten it, and his tongue darts out to wet it.

I groan at the sight.

And as if that was a signal, his lips are on mine, kissing me, his arms wrapping around my midst, pressing me hard against his chest.

His mouth is warm and he smells of coffee and make-up and mint.

My heart is racing, and I can feel his even through the thick fabric of his jumper, beating frantically against his rip cage.

He opens his mouth, only a tad but enough for his tongue to slide over my lower lip, shooting sparks of pleasure through me at the wet touch.

I mirror it, letting the tip of my tongue flutter against his skin.

He growls. A sound so deep, so fierce, it rumbles through his chest and vibrates through me, making my toes curl at the feeling.

His grasp on me tightens, his slippery hands digging deep into my back as he deepens the kiss, plunging into my mouth with a fiery passion.

One hand glides between my shoulder blades, bending me back a tiny bit, pressing my lower body harder against his, letting me feel the bulge in his trousers.

"Stop me, God, stop me now or I will have you, will take you like a bloody animal, right here on the fucking floor," he groans against my lips, panting heavily.

"Do it," I murmur back, slipping my tongue back in his mouth, curling around his.

The sound he makes comes from deep in his throat and before I can do anything, he breaks the kiss and spins me around.

Despite the heavy pants and the needy sounds he makes, his hands are gentle, almost hesitant as they slide over my stomach, coating it in the oil still clinging to his fingers.

"Christ, you're driving me crazy," he murmurs in my ear, licking over the shell and making me shiver in his arms.

"Since the very first day...driving me mad...wanting you so much...couldn't have you...working together...not professional..." he rambles, his fingers outlining my ribs, one by one.

I cry out as his hands close around my breasts, covering them completely.

He groans again, and I feel his knees buckle. But he catches himself quickly, pulling me hard against his chest, equally steadying us both.

"Been dreaming about you...every night...all the things I want to do with you...so beautiful...so gorgeous..."

He rubs his palms against my rapidly hardening nipples, making us both moan at the feeling.

"Please tell me you have something," I whisper, my own hands covering his, squeezing softly.

I feel him nod against my neck where he's biting and kissing.

"Get it," I moan, circling my arse against his trapped erection.

He shudders heavily, pushing forward, letting me know how much he wants me.

Slowly his hands slide from my breasts, his fingers teasing over my nipples, rolling them between the pads, making me buck my hips rather rigid against him.

"Now," I demand, quickly losing control over my knees.

He steps back and instantly I shiver at the loss of his heat against my back. I hear him curse quietly and as I turn trance like, he's digging through his wallet, throwing receipts, notes and even coins carelessly on the floor.

I cant help a chuckle and raise an eyebrow at him.

"Shut up," he grunts before he finally finds two condoms.

Before I can say anything, he has grabbed me again, kissing me passionately and my mind goes offline.

My hands scramble for the hem of his jumper, wanting - needing - to feel skin.

Pushing under the fabric and gently scratching my nails over his sides, he arches into me, moaning loudly.

"Too many clothes," he mutters and with one swift move pulls the jumper over his head, the shirt underneath going the same way.

With shaking fingers I fumble with his belt, a burning fire racing through my veins, that has me blind and deaf for anything but Benedict's beautiful body.

Large hands close around mine and together we manage to open belt, button and fly of his trousers.

He makes quick work of my jeans, and each of us pushes down the offending fabrics.

Benedict sighs longingly when he sees my red lace pants, his fingers sliding under the waistband, toying with it.

"I've always imagined you in black satin," he murmurs, leaning down to kiss me breathless.

"And I you in white boxers," I reply hoarsely, slipping my hands into his dark blue, very tight, pants.

He stills and it takes a second for me to realize it.

Looking up, his eyes have gone even darker and he has to clear his throat twice before he can speak again.

"You have imagined _me_?"

He sounds shocked, aroused and something else, I can't define.

I blush even more but his intense gaze forces an answer out of me.

"Every damn night," I admit hesitantly, averting my eyes.

"Oh God," he breathes and then I find myself in a heated kiss, so thorough it makes my blood boil.

"So much time wasted," he mutters as he pushes down my pants and gets rid of his, hissing as the fabric catches over his stiff length.

"Come here," he murmurs, kissing me again, slow and languid this time, gently steering us back to the massage chair where it all began.

"I want you on top of me," he whispers, falling down on the small surface, pulling me in his lap.

"I don't trust myself right now...I...you need to have control..."

His voice is husky and he's panting heavily now. I nod hazily; it won't take long though, we're both too far gone to take anything slowly right now.

Tearing open the condom, he holds his breath as he rolls it over his straining erection, squeezing the shaft.

Cursing tonelessly, only his lips are moving, his head falls back against the headrest.

I can only watch in awe but he doesn't give me much time to admire the long column of his neck or the throbbing beat of his pulse in the vein on his shoulder.

He blinks his eyes open, stormy and burning fiercely, finding mine.

"Please..." he begs.

I have been crouching on his legs during this little interlude, too caught up in the sensuality of this man despite the fact that the siren song in my blood hasn't stopped.

Sliding back I stand up, knees buckling but strong determination in every move.

His arms have fallen down, hanging boneless down the chair, hooded eyes following me.

I lean down, kissing him softly, memorising the texture of his lips, the taste of his tongue, the way his breath hitches every time flesh meets flesh.

I feel strange: full of desire with the knowledge lingering just at the edge of my consciousness that he's given me all the control, surrendered to me completely.

It's a heady feeling and I am very light-headed when I step closer, sliding one leg over his hip and slowly lower myself back into his lap.

I slip one hand between our bodies, gently closing around his hardness, making him hiss. His hands close around the frame of the chair. Sweat is running down his chest, enhancing the toned muscles tensing under pale skin.

He looks like a painting - too precious, too stunning to be touched. Yet I am allowed, urged even, going by the broken noises he makes when I stroke him once, twice.

"God, please," he pleads, the word only a hushed sound.

I take mercy on him and settle down, directing him inside me with one swift motion, not stopping until I'm fully seated on his lap.

Gasping as he fills me completely, I grasp for a hold on his strong shoulders, keeping me from collapsing on the floor.

"Jesus fucking Christ," he mutters, his eyes screwed shut, his arms shaking as his hold on the chair tightens.

I don't move, needing a moment to get used to his fullness, his hot thickness inside me. It's glorious, and when I look down at him, sprawled out on the chair, my heart flutters wildly.

"Benedict," I whisper; once to make him look at me and to remind myself that this is really happening.

His lids flutter open and the mix of utter trust and pure lust in his eyes knocks the air out of my lungs.

"Keep looking at me," I whisper as I start moving, "don't look away. I wanna see you fall apart..."

I keep it slow first, just a roll of my hips, a clench of muscles but it elicits the most erotic sounds from his mouth.

That mouth. Reddened lips, parted, gasping for air, glistening wet in the low lights, inaudibly forming words neither of us can hear.

He looks utterly debauched, his hair is a curly mess and my fingers itch with the sudden urge to sink into the dark mass.

I shift my weight, my feet searching for leverage on the chair's frame and when I've found it, I bury both hands in those luxurious curls.

He moans, pushing into me, the muscles in his neck straining with the effort.

"You're killing me," he growls, thrusting helplessly up but I use my weight to pin him back into the chair.

"God, have mercy," he whimpers, lifting his head a bit and licking over one of my nipples.

It's my turn to curse now, and despite being unable to move much he grins dangerously.

"Both can play that game," he says darkly but a quick push down on his cock has him cry out in pleasure.

"Oh yes?" I ask, doing it again, making his entire body shake heavily.

"Grace, please...please!"

His eyes are dark oceans, his voice thunder, my name falling from his lips the most beautiful thing in the world.

And I can't deny him anything anymore.

I start moving again, circling my hips, feeling his thickness sliding in and out of me, fuelling my own erratic desire for him.

Angling myself closer, I press against his stomach, my sweet spot rubbing against his skin with every push down.

Our sweat is slicking every motion, his scent is filling my nose, the warmth of his silky hair between my fingers, every bit is driving me closer and closer to the edge.

Suddenly he yells out, his hands fly up and close painfully around my shoulders from behind, his hands pushing me down, down, down.

He lets out a shaky cry, his head falls back and then he stills completely.

I feel him inside me, trembling, shuddering, spilling his release into the condom.

Mesmerised I watch as he falls apart, losing complete control of his body for one precious moment, giving himself over to a frenzy ecstasy.

Before I can bemoan that we didn't achieve this together, one hand falls from my shoulder and slides between us.

His thumb finds what it's searching and it takes only a few seconds and his clever finger bring me to completion.

My head falls back as the hotwired sensation of my orgasm surges through me, leaving me a quivering, panting mess in his arms.

He pulls me against his chest, caressing my back, his hand still trapped between our bellies, murmuring endearments into my hair as I tremble and gasp for air.

Very slowly my heartbeat calms down, as does Benedict's.

It takes several minutes until I am able to lift my head to look at him.

A breathtaking smile plays over his lips, his eyes sparkle like diamonds, no longer dark but blue and bright.

"Hi," he whispers softly, kissing the tip of my nose.

"Hi," I reply just as gently, stroking a stray curl out of his face.

His gaze is roaming over my face, the smile never fading and I find myself swallowing around a lump in my throat at the sheer fondness in his eyes.

"You okay?" he asks.

"Hmmm, yes."

"How's the back?"

I chuckle and pull playfully on a strand of hair, making him groan quietly.

"What back?"

He giggles and it's the most beautiful thing I have ever heard. It's carefree and relaxed, quiet and yet I know I'll never forget the sound of it.

We are silent for a while, and I just relish in the feeling of his warm, pliant body against mine as something he said earlier comes into my mind.

I lean back and look at him curiously.

"Since the first day you saw me?"

He's blushing and it's adorable.

He nods.

"The first time I saw you, all tousled and exhausted, ready to punch the wall about something the producer said to you, yes. I..."

I stop his words with a kiss and he responses keenly.

"You silly man, you,"I say when he breaks the kiss, "so you _were_ flirting with me?"

I am pretty sure about that now but want to make sure.

He rolls his eyes good naturally.

"Of course but apparently I've gotten a bit rusty over the years," he smiles.

"Well, I hope you can work on your technique a bit."

He raises a questioning eyebrow at me.

"Aye?"

I kiss him quickly and slip off his lap, making him moan wistfully.

"Taking a girl out to dinner might be a good start," I say, noticing with delight how his eyes follow me around the room as I head for the tiny shower at the back of the trailer.

"Sounds good to me," he muses, "and after dinner?"

I throw my hair over one shoulder, looking back at him.

"We'll see."

His deep laugh is the last I hear before closing the door behind me, a happy smile dancing over my face.

 

 

 


End file.
